


Not Quite Time to Leave

by Ayngelcat



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Gen, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-27
Updated: 2012-10-27
Packaged: 2017-11-17 03:39:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/547225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayngelcat/pseuds/Ayngelcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*Content and Warnings:* Medical procedures, initial non canon character 'death' - to begin with, anyway. Supernatural themes. Protectobot fluff. No other warnings.</p><p>Summary: Blades is lucky to have made it through a fight with Vortex with barely a scratch. Or did he?.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Quite Time to Leave

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: In keeping with other headcanon, the Protectobots aren't newly created except Blades and Streetwise. The rest recently came together for the purposes of the gestalt, but had been around for a while. And First Aid was once Hook's intern.

Blades was confused. There was a copter on the operating table, and it had the same colors as him. It had the same kind of rotors too – as he could see from the mangled specimens that were sitting on the bench. It even _looked_ a bit like him – though it was so smashed up and fragged, that this was hard to tell.  
  
But it wasn’t him, of course. I mean, how could it be? When here he was, standing right here; and very much in one piece.  
  
Tubes and lines connected the other copter to various beeping machines, whilst wiggly lines ran across machine screens. There seemed to be concern over this. Groove was pointing anxiously at one of them and Hot Spot was shaking his head. He was saying things to First Aid whose optic ridges furrowed in concentration, as he fiddled deep in a hole in the copter’s chest.  
  
Yes, First Aid. He was there. And this copter, whoever he was, must be important - cos not only him, but Ratchet was there as well. TWO doctors working on him. And that it was Ratchet was especially amazing, cos Ratchet hardly ever left the Ark, or treated anyone except his ‘old favorites’ over there.  
  
And now, First Aid was pulling things out of the copter’s chest hole; except that Blades couldn’t see very well because Ratchet, who had his back to him, was in the way.  
  
The door opened, and Streetwise came hurrying in, carrying a package. “Here’s the core replacement,” he said, dumping it on the side and flinching a little when Ratchet growled "careful with that thing!” First Aid shot Streets an encouraging smile.  
  
A _core_ replacement? This must be bad. It was funny how Hot Spot and Groove and Streetwise were all helping First Aid and yet he, Blades, hadn’t been asked. In fact, they didn’t even seem to have noticed him here.  
  
Oh well. Blades would just stand here and watch, he guessed. He never was much good at the medical side of things. That was obviously why they hadn’t asked him. Or maybe it was a _copters shouldn’t work on each other thing?_  
  
…………  
  
There was a noise behind him. Blades turned, to see that the strange little mech who had been there earlier was back again. The same one who he’d seen standing over him after that last vision of the Decepticon copter coming at him.  
  
Yes, Vortex; that was it. Blades had had a fight with Vortex. He didn’t know how it had ended up, because the next thing he knew after the strange mech appeared, he was back here.  
  
Well, Blades thought smugly, whatever had happened, he bet Vortex hadn’t gotten out of it half as lightly as him. Why, he had barely a scratch. Whereas Vortex? He probably looked more like that other copter they were working on behind him.  
  
The mech was still standing there. Slight, he was, with a frail kind of look and large cavernous optics. He didn’t seem to have any transformation seams; which was odd, because Blades hadn’t thought there were any robots on Earth _except_ Transformers.  
  
He smiled, shyly, and Blades saw that there were others like him there too, except it was weird because they seemed to flit in and out of view, like they were hiding behind something he couldn’t see and then popping out again.  
  
The main one spoke. Blades presumed he was the leader, or something. “You can see us all now, which means it’s nearly time,” he said. “You should say your goodbyes.”  
  
Blades gave a short laugh. Goodbye to what? He cleared his throat. “I think you've got the wrong idea," he said politely. "I have to stay here, even if I'm not needed right now. Because if they decide I am and then I've gone, Hot Spot will be very cross.”  
  
……………  
  
Working fast to connect the new core, First Aid fought to maintain his composure. He was all too aware of Ratchet’s surly manner and disapproving glances. Ratchet had not approved of he, or any of the Protectobots assisting with this, First Aid knew. “Too close to home,” the older medic had snapped. “Let me bring in Hoist and Wheeljack. We’ll get yer copter sorted.”  
  
But First Aid had refused to allow that, refused to leave Blades’ side or abandon him to the Ark medbay without his team. And as time went on, he had become certain that this, at least, had been right - for something other than superb medical skills was going to be required before the night was out.  
  
Now, as he raced against time, trying to connect the new core before Blades’ systems gave out, First Aid only hoped that whatever that was it would be enough.  
  
But it was a tough call. First Aid shook as his fingers plugged in the myriad of tiny wires and connections, trying to move as fast as Hook had taught him many eons ago. But he was sickened with the growing certainty that he would never be as good as Hook, and that he wasn’t going to be fast enough.  
  
“Aid, we got systems failing ....” Hot Spot had only recently trained as a paramedic. But he knew enough to know that this was bad. All the graphs were dropping. Pump functionality was down to twenty per cent, conduit pressure was falling, the synapse rate was rapidly declining and, now that Blades’ new core was still not properly connected, motor neural output was declining rapidly.  
  
Worst of all, spark function was dwindling. The crackling which accompanied its presence on the visual monitor was fading fast. “We’re losing him!” Hot Spot gasped.  
  
Ratchet glanced at the monitor. Then at Streetwise, who was staring, wide opticed. “Well don’t just stand there, get the core stimulator!” he barked at the car. “And YOU!” he snapped at Groove, "open an energon line direct to the dorsal conduit." He turned back to First Aid, whose hands were shakng worse than ever. "Let me do that!" he snapped.  
  
Despairing, First Aid took his hands away. Even in his early days as an intern, he hadn’t felt as useless as this – and Hook had been a lot more condescending than Ratchet. But then it had never been Blades – his beloved Blades – on the table. “Hurry!” he hovered over the wound as Ratchet’s fingers, equally as skilled as Hook’s, clicked components into place.  
  
But it was to no avail. The graphs dropped lower, the crackling and beeping sounds getting fainter and fainter. Then suddenly, they were no more, and there was nothing but one long monotone.  
  
“Flatline!” Ratchet snapped. “Where in the name of Primus is that stimulator?”  
  
"Oh Primus!" Hot Spot seemed unable to function. He clutched at the edge of the berth, staring in horror at the scene, as First Aid's spark felt as though it had seized in his chest.  
  
The door opened and Streetwise came running in, pushing a large machine. Mercifully, First Aid, now found his medical programming kicking back in. Hauling the machine over, he grabbed the electrical dischargers. There was a whine as they started to power. “There!” Ratchet said. “Core transmitters in place. Spark’s still functional – just. Give him a blast of fifty thousand v’s!”  
  
First Aid shoved the dischargers on to Blades’ chest. “Stand back” he yelled. There was a bright blue flash as current zapped through Blades; then an anxious moment as everyone watched the screens. “No change,” Ratchet said. “Again!”  
  
Groove, looking at Blades’ pale and broken face, knew this was not the answer. They were a gestalt. They may not have been one for very long, but they were. And they had to be more _like_ a gestalt, use the new connections they’d chosen to make themselves a part of. Hot Spot hardly seemed aware of that, so distressed was he at the copter’s predicament; and without his guidance, the others didn’t seem able to do it either.  
  
Dropping down so as to be as close to Blades’ audio as possible, Groove shuttered his optics. He leaned back slightly when another blue bolt shot through Blades, but then was next to him again. Clearing his processor, he sought the bond – which was still there, dreadfully faint, but functional.  
  
“Blades,” Groove whispered with his mind and spark and voice. “It’s your choice if you go to the other side. But we’d like you to come back to us. Please .... because we love you.”  
  
…………  
  
Blades could see the little mechs more clearly now. There were lots of them, and they seemed to sparkle different colours, surrounded as they were by a strange, soothing white light. In fact, everything was getting brighter, lighter. The room was fading, and looking over his shoulder, Blades saw that the copter and his attendants were barely visible.  
  
He stayed looking for a moment. Something had happened to the copter. A machine was getting rushed in, and Ratchet was shouting, and bright blue flashes kept zapping out. A shame, Blades supposed, but it didn’t seem to matter much. In fact nothing realy mattered any more except thes strange new friends and this place they wanted him to go, wherever that was.  
  
“Come ..” the leader held out his hand.  
  
But there was something else; something _nagging._ A voice, saying his name, asking him not to go. And Blades’ chest ached, except that the ache seemed not to be coming from inside him, but somehow from inside that other copter over on the table there. The new mechs dimmed, slightly, as another flash of blue light filled the air.  
  
The voice was saying it again, more urgently. And he knew who owned the voice; it was Groove. That’s right; his friend, Groove. Who was gentle and loving and caring and put nice ointments on his wounds when he got hurt. Groove was with the other Copter, and now Blades’ thought about it, there was something important about that one.  
  
Ignoring the little mech’s outstretched hand, Blades coasted towards Groove’s voice – and it seemed that he moved strangely, like he was floating, without moving his feet.  
  
Now, Blades was at the edge of the table. And he was saddened at how sad and tense they all looked. Even Ratchet looked tired and exasperated. “One more!’ he was yelling. Meanwhile Hot Spot and Streetwise clutched each other, and Streetwise started to cry, First Aid put the paddle things on the copter's chest, and more blue light flashed, but tears were trickling from his optics also.  
  
And it was only then, when Blades was up close to the ruined body, saw the massive hole where Vortex’s hand had ripped out his core; saw the pale face, the shattered cheek where Vortex’s fist had struck home, that he remembered; that he recognized at last the blue otics which stared upwards, unseeing. He recalled also, then; falling, and engulfed with pain as the universe went black. The pain in his spark flared again - and he knew.  
  
Yet it did not seem real. He moved closer to Groove. “Is this me?” he said.  
  
“Yes,” said Groove  
  
“Am I gonna make it?”  
  
Groove laughed softly. “Like I said - it’s up to you if you wanna go to the other side. But I for one would rather you stuck around. I think the rest of the team would too. Besides – don’t you want a chance to get even with Vortex, kiddo?”  
  
Blades did. Definitely. Hell – there was lots of stuff he still wanted to do. Like cut through the clear morning air, and have air ground races with Streetwise again. He wanted to snuggle First Aid, and Groove, and all of them. He wanted to do dares, and get told off by Hot Spot for being too unruly. So much that he loved doing. His life had been too short as it was. Blades was darned if he wanted it to end now.  
  
And these mechs here – his team – they were everything that made life so good for him.  
  
He turned back to the little mechs still clustered in the shadows, barely visible, now.  
  
“Sorry guys,” he said. “Another time?”  
  
……………  
  
“Last blast, and I’m calling it a day!” Angry and disappointed, Ratchet was annoyed with himself. He was surrounded by sobbing, distraught mechs – and he was no good at this sort of thing! They’d lost a perfectly good new Autobot, too. Yes he did think that – even if the little smart aft had given him and Ironhide hell in the short time he’d been here.  
  
No, it was a bad business for all. He should have put his foot down about Hoist and Wheeljack. Well – one last try. “Again!” he snapped.  
  
But First Aid was staring at the spark monitor, his head on one side, the dischargers hanging in his hand. “Wait!" he said. Ratchet strained his audios. From the monitor, a faint crackling issued.  
  
Then they were all looking, as the crackling got louder and the spark output on the visual monitor began to rise. At the same time, a beeping came from the other machines; faint at fist, but rapidly gaining in volume as one by one Blades' systems came back to functional status. Finally, the copter stirred. “He’s made it!” First Aid whispered.  
  
Then they were all hugging enthusiastically, and crying tears of joy, and even Ratchet could not help but smile. It was only then that he saw where Groove was, saw the bike lean over and kiss Blades on the not so damaged cheek. Groove’s lips lingered on the copter’s faceplates. “Thank you,” he whispered.  
  
Shaking his head, Ratchet took to doing a quick assessment of all the Autobot copter’s rapidly recovering systems. It was lookin’ good! And Ratchet knew - he just _knew_ \- that the bike had had something to do with this; something _important._  
  
But - gestalts! Ratchet was darned if he knew what the _something_ was.


End file.
